


Intimacy

by foxtr



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:42:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtr/pseuds/foxtr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many ways of being intimate without having sex. John and Sherlock's relationship is at the same time both complex and very simple. They are two people who love each other, but who doesn't necessarily want to sleep with each other. This was inspired by a list found on tumblr with suggestions on how people can show intimacy without it being sexual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intimacy

*****

**Comforting someone after a bad breakup.**

Sherlock is sitting on his bed, legs crossed under him and poring over books and printed texts; different studies on blunt force trauma to the abdomen. There was a case that he helped solve a week or so back, but there are still a few details that needs sorting out and they are irking him so he’s reading up to refresh his memory. And as he’s reading, he’s waiting. He waits for the sound of the door, when John returns home after being dumped by his girlfriend. This one was a nearly steady one; she and John had been going out for nearly four months. But she’s met someone else and she is breaking up with John tonight.

Sherlock has expected the time it would take before John got home, with a window of 10 minutes give or take. It’s too early in the day for John to go to a pub afterwards, so he’ll be coming straight home. John usually retreats to familiar ground when he is upset. If he’s right, he should hear John coming through the door in less than three minutes.

Four minutes and ten seconds later (Sherlock’s teeth are grinding with annoyance at his own miscalculation, or more likely, John’s dawdling), the front door opens and closes. It’s softer than Sherlock expected (John is more sad than angry. He had expected anger) and the following footsteps on the stairs are heavy (Sherlock puts down his review and listens intently) and the thump of John’s bag hitting the floor of the living room echoes the other man’s hurt feelings.

Sherlock hears John move about as he hangs up his coat and puts away his shoes, and then the other man walks further into the flat, looking for Sherlock no doubt. Sherlock holds his breath, staring at his bedroom door. He hears John move into the kitchen, then stop. He doesn’t move again for a little while. Sherlock smiles to himself, knowing John has found the cup of tea he has set out for him on the kitchen table. He took the effort to clean it, too. Hopefully that will soften the blow. He knows how much John cares for tidiness and how fussy he is about kitchen hygiene.

When John moves again, it is not towards Sherlock’s room, but rather away from it. Frowning, Sherlock steps off of his bed and opens his bedroom door, walking out into the flat. He finds John sitting on the sofa in the living room, cradling the cup of tea in his hands. It should be the perfect temperature for drinking, but he isn’t. He’s just staring at it. Sherlock  is annoyed again.

“You knew, then.” John sighs, without looking up at him. Sherlock hesitates for a moment, trying to find the proper thing to say to that statement. Then, he offers:

“I suspected.”

John nodded, and then glanced up at him, briefly before gazing down at the tea again.

“She met someone new.”

“I know.” Sherlock huffs and John bristles, his eyes narrowing and his voice hardening to a ragged edge of upset:

“A teacher. Marvellous with kids, apparently.”

Sherlock snorts, “Boring. That won’t last three weeks. She’s only attracted to him because she imagines she is ready for a family and she imagines, rightly, that you are not,” John looks up at him again and he adds, “He’s not either, and a quick look into his internet search histories turned out a few questionable searches that tells me the worlds is better off with him not being too close to children at all. I send the information on to the Yard. They’ll be in touch with him within a few days.”

“Are you serious?” John frowns, and then buries his face in the hand that isn’t supporting the tea cup, “Oh Christ, my girlfriend dumped me for a paedo. That makes me feel much better.”

“Not a paedophile. Not yet, at least. But these things are better off nipped in the bud in my opinion,” Sherlock says, and offers John a small smile. It only makes John’s frown deepen, and the sitting man sighs:

“Why didn’t you say you knew, Sherlock?”

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate it. When I told you that that teacher woman you dated last year was sleeping with her ex, you yelled at me, threw a mug at my head and then didn’t speak to me for a week!” Sherlock exclaims, indignant.

“Because you gave me a DVD of the CCTV footage showing her shagging her ex in a parking lot, Sherlock!” John says back, almost at a shout. They still for a few seconds, glaring at each other in stony silence. “I really liked her,” John adds, voice sharp and hard and hurt. Sherlock grinds his teeth; he hates that tone of voice. It makes him feel confused and angry and it makes his thoughts spin into plausible ways of seeking revenge for John’s hurt.

“I know,” He mutters instead. Because no matter how hurt John might be now, he wouldn’t appreciate if Sherlock pushed his intolerable ex off a bridge. There are a few moments of silence where Sherlock allows himself to imagine it, though, vividly and with the knowledge that he could do it and no one would ever catch him. Well, John might see through the lie. He did that sometimes, saw right through a well-constructed lie or scenario. It drove Sherlock around the twist.

Finally, John sighs and raises the cup of tea slightly, causing Sherlock’s thought process to stop abruptly and his attention to turn to the other man instead.

“Did you make this?” John asks.

“Yes,” Sherlock mutters, sticking his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown, “I thought it would cheer you up. Tea always makes you feel better. You really should drink it soon, though, or it’ll be too cold.”

There was another pause. Then John slowly raises the cup to his lips and takes a mouthful of the tea. Sherlock watches him as he holds the drink in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it down. Then, John looks up at him and offers a small smile.

“It’s perfect.”

“Of course it is,” Sherlock huffs, and steps up to the sofa, sitting down heavily and pulling his feet up under himself, “I made it precisely how you take it in the mornings.”

The right corner of John’s smile pulls a little higher than the other, and Sherlock sees some of the hurt drain from his eyes, being replaced by the fondness that John usually aims at Sherlock when he thinks Sherlock has done something uncharacteristically kind.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nods curtly at him, and then slides further down in his seat promptly, reaching out and grabbing one of the books stacked on the sofa table. He opens it on a random page and pretends to read, listening to the sounds of John drinking his tea.

When John is done, he stays where he is for a little while, and Sherlock enjoys the companionable silence that has yet again settles between them. Then, John rises from his seat.

“Thanks, Sherlock. For the tea,” a slight pause, “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sherlock mutters, and does not pull the book closer to him face to stop John from seeing him smiling. John snorts a little laugh, and reaches out to give one of his bent knees a shove, before taking his empty cup back to the kitchen.

 

*

 

 


End file.
